


Platonic Intimacy

by sammichgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, SPN Masquerade Kink Meme, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23316649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammichgirl/pseuds/sammichgirl
Summary: Written for the prompt: wincest, non-sexual touching.Sometimes after a particularly rough hunt or those apocalypse situations where they really thought they might lose each other, Sam and Dean have this weird, unspoken practice. They strip and get in bed together and touch each other's bodies all over, including their soft cocks. It isn't sexual, but feeling each other's bodies whole is the only thing that makes it possible to get past the trauma they just experienced. They don't get hard from the touches, they don't look at each other, and they certainly don't talk about it the next day.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 18
Kudos: 89
Collections: SPN_Masquerade Spring 2020





	Platonic Intimacy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherie_morte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherie_morte/gifts).



> Written for the [SPN Masquerade, Round 6: The Waltz of the Wicked.](https://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/10986.html/)
> 
> Anon, I loved your prompt, I hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Thanks to [Carole ](https://twitter.com/true_firesign10) for the beta!

The way Sam sighed as he scrunched down in the passenger seat let Dean know, this was one of _those_ nights. In fact, this hunt had been one of _those_ hunts.

The hunt that didn’t get the win even when the monster was taken care of. The hunt that left the innocent dead, especially the young innocent who’d had too similar familiarities to the Winchester brothers in terms of family and bond.

After an hour of silence along a dark two-lane highway, they grabbed greasy takeout and a six-pack to bring back to the motel. The storm they’d left behind hadn’t yet caught up to this sleepy no-where town. Dean waved at Sam, relinquishing his rights to the first shower as he sunk into a chair by the door. He watched his little brother strip, checking out all the spots he knew Sam had taken a hit, looking for any discoloration or torn flesh.

Sam tried not to groan as he pulled and bent to get out of his clothes. He was sore, banged up, and he knew tomorrow he’d be sporting bruises all over. He was eager to get under the hot water and let the hunt roll off his shoulders. If only it were that easy. Padding into the bathroom, he left the door open. Right now, he knew he needed to be within Dean’s line of sight and vice versa.

Getting up and pouring two glass tumblers full of whiskey, Dean sat one on each nightstand, placing a beer next to them. Hearing the water run and knowing Sam was safely underneath the spray was a solace Dean cherished. He waited for his little brother to emerge, still wet and wrapped in a towel, pink-flushed and scrubbed clean of monster bits.

When Sam did emerge, he went straight to the bed and sat down. The towel came loose, and he didn’t bother to retie it at his waist. He waited for Dean to give him a slight nod, this ritual too well-practiced to need any words spoken.

As Dean toed off his work boots and shed his clothes, Sam gave him the same treatment he’d received, studying Dean for wounds, making sure nothing immediate needed tending to. He let his eyes slip closed while Dean was in the shower, trying not to think about the hunt, and instead be thankful that they had both made it out. However, the images kept flashing through his mind, looping over and over as he could hear thunder rumble in the distance, moving closer.

Neither one of them should have emerged unscathed. The group of kids squatting in the house had surprised them – they’d thought there’d be one or two, but certainly not nine of them. And three had died already. Two more were lost while Sam and Dean fought trying to get them all to safety. The information they’d gotten on a tip from another hunter was wrong – the monster in question turned out to be a Rawhead and not a Shtriga.

To make matters worse, it hadn’t been just one Rawhead, but two. Already caught off-guard, they’d had no tasers on them. If it hadn’t been for the massive storm knocking down the power lines after they’d tried to take out the hairy, clawed horrors in combat fashion, none of them would have survived.

Sam knew exactly what getting hit by an electrical current could do. He hadn’t been about to let Dean go through that again. After body checking one of the brutes into an electrified puddle, he’d shoved Dean out of the way to safety before the other could attack, jumping back out of harm’s way at the last second as the wriggling live wire hit the beast.

They’d waited only seconds to make sure both Rawheads were dead, then gathered up the four remaining children and tucked them into Baby’s backseat. The hospital staff had had a million questions, so they had performed quick evasive maneuvers to get out undetected, knowing the kids were now safe.

Sam heard the water shut off and opened his eyes, waiting for Dean to emerge. His brother didn’t even bother wrapping the towel around himself, using it instead to give a quick rub of it through his dripping hair. Dean strode over to the bed, letting the towel hit the worn carpet. He sat down next to Sam, back against the headboard as he let his knee knock into Sam’s splayed leg.

They both looked at each other before reaching for their whiskey, clinking the glasses together in a wordless acknowledgment before downing the generous pours. They lifted their beers next, taking time to drain them as they sat, side by side, quiet in each other’s company.

When the drinks were done, they settled down under the covers, laying facing each other without making eye contact. Sam looked over Dean’s shoulder while Dean gazed above Sam’s head. Unspoken Winchester rules were in play.

The storm had rolled in, the thunder booming as lightning cracked bright against the sky. Rain pelted against the window, but Sam and Dean were lost to it all. Their ritual allowed no one and nothing in, just the two of them wrapped up in a reassurance of life.

Sam’s large hands ran over the flanks of Dean’s strong, battered body. Feather touches to assure that Dean was there, that he was whole, that he was safe. Slender fingers traced freckle constellations across Dean’s shoulders and felt against his neck, the beat of a steady pulse a comforting rhythm. Sam let his hands wander down arms, along the chest and around to his back. As his hands came around and grazed Dean’s groin, he gently cupped the flaccid cock nestled in pubic hair, lightly rolling Dean’s balls. He moved to feel bowed legs and firm thighs, sensing the scars from so many hunts before. Sam kept his touches reverent. This wasn’t about a clinical examination, nor was it sensual. It was so much more and nothing that ever needed explanation or apology. When he’d finished, he pulled his hands away, letting them fall back against his pillow as he closed his eyes again.

Sam always went first. That was Dean’s idea when they’d first started this in their teens. Sam went first because Dean couldn’t rest until Sam was ready to drift off to sleep. Until he knew that Sam knew they were ok. He used to have to pull the big brother card; now Sam was used to it and didn’t give him a bitchface, but just fell into their routine.

When Dean heard Sam’s hands drop, he looked up. Sam would probably fall asleep before he was done, and that was ok. Dean began his own exploration of Sam, assessing the blooming colors against Sam’s skin. Running his hands along broad shoulders, he rested his open palm against Sam’s heart, waiting for the beat to even out. He let his fingers trace around to his back, trailing down the curve of his spine. Dean could feel the scar from the knife blade at Cold Oak, which always gave him pause. As he continued tracing his hands over Sam’s hips, he frowned. He let a finger run over a small gash he hadn’t noticed before on the back of Sam’s left hip. The skin hadn’t torn away, and it didn’t warrant stitches. He tapped it softly to let Sam know he’d found something, but they’d address it in the morning if needed. He continued letting his hands feel down long legs before moving back up to lastly handle Sam’s cock. He held it just long enough to consider the soft heft before letting it drop back against his thigh. Once he was done, he ran his hands up Sam’s neck to card his tousled curls, the end of the ritual. Sam wasn’t snoring but had dozed off, puffs of air escaping his open lips.

Dean let himself sink into slumber. They didn’t cuddle or spoon, each brother kept to their own side of the bed. It was enough to know they were safe, solid in each other’s presence. The way they handled hunts like this allowed them to move forward, to hunt again. To live the lives that they did, well, they needed a way to deal with the fallout of a bad hunt upfront. Burying it didn’t work well they’d learned; this gave them a way to process their trauma where each other was concerned privately, quickly, and to move forward knowing they were still the freaking Winchesters – saving people, hunting things.

When the storm had passed and the sun was starting to stream in through the gap in the tattered curtains, Sam woke first. He got up quietly, washed up and got dressed before sitting down at the small desk. He booted up his computer, then checked the morning’s news and his RSS feeds for targeted searches. When Dean woke, Sam was working his way through his email.

What had happened before they fell asleep had dissipated. That was a vital part of their understanding. They did it under the covers and in the dark, and they moved on. Once Dean was dressed and ready to hit the road, they loaded up Baby. Stopping for coffee and roadside snacks at the nearest gas station, they headed out on the road. As always, the day was a fresh start and they had work to do.


End file.
